


After Party

by desperationandgin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow White throws her first ball as mayor, and Regina finds a way to make the night memorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Party

**Author's Note:**

> For N on her birthday who prompted me with smut in a car. I hope you like it :)

Of  _course_  the first step when the storm has passed and things are calm, is for Mayor Snow to throw a ball. Of all the things this town actually needs (group therapy, perhaps), a  _ball_  is the priority, and Regina is grousing about it as she goes through her wardrobe. There’s no getting out of it, even if she’d rather continue separating Enchanted Forest life from Storybrooke.

_Regina, royal balls to celebrate happy events could be good for this town. This is my curse, and I’m mayor, so. Consider this my inaugural celebration._

In three years she’s running against her step-daughter for office, and she is going to win, and this kind of thing is going to stop, completely. Standing in her closet and simply staring at her clothes isn’t helping her find anything suitable; she’s hardly going to wear an actual ball gown. And it isn’t as if she’s had formal attire appropriate for this particular situation simply waiting in the wings. Her thoughts are interrupted when her phone rings and she smirks, answering and sitting on the ottoman she keeps in the spacious walk-in.

"Finally using your own phone?"

Robin’s chuckle is rich and jovial and it makes her warm. “I think I may have figured out some parts of technology, yes. Though the ‘text message’ is still an elusive thing to me.”

"Did you find something to wear to the ball?" she asks, idly tugging at a loose thread near her hip on the ottoman.

"Oh, I think you’ll find I clean up quite well. I’ve been told to tell you that my tie is blue as it might help you pick an appropriate dress."

"Snow’s been giving you fashion advice? You might want to ignore it."

"No, actually it was Ruby, and she instructed me to say ‘dark blue.’ So, there you have it. My tie is apparently not only blue, but a very dark shade."

She laughs into the phone, waving a hand and watching as a floor length, midnight blue gown with a jeweled bodice appears once the smoke clears. “I have just the thing.”

When he sees her, hair in a sweeping up-do, makeup minimal and in that dress, that curve hugging, deep blue dress, he can’t take his eyes off of her. But then she turns around and the back is bare but jeweled and his lips part, eyes raking up and down her form. Just the sight of her is enough to make his mind explode with imagery, of nosing aside diamonds to kiss every inch of skin he can see, to follow the line that curves down her backside and…

"Well, that dress is a bit of a statement."

Robin blinks, turning to look at his new company. “Will Scarlett. Glad to see formality doesn’t get in the way of a good leather jacket,” he observes of the other man’s attire.

With a casual shrug and air of uncaring, Will grabs a champagne flute. “This kind of thing, never really my style. Figure I suffered through plenty, and this ain’t me kingdom, mate. I dress for comfort now. But your queen, dunno how she’s breathin’, personally. It’s like a very glittery sausage casing, that dress.”

There’s a look then from Robin of barely tolerable interest, and the former Knave puts up his free hand.

"Sexy, glittery, sausage casing she wore for you, don’t get mad at the observing bloke. She didn’t wear it for my benefit, or hers. You’re supposed to go tell her now that she’s…"

"Wearing a diamond sausage casing?"

"No. No, I would not say that to the woman with the fireballs."

Robin claps Will on the shoulder. “Your advice is quite touch and go, you do know that?” He chuckles and leaves his side, quite intent on being sure Regina’s efforts have not gone unappreciated.  

She’s just taken a glass of red wine when one hand trails across the curve of her hip subtly. 

"This is quite the dress, your majesty."

Turning to him, Regina tilts her head to the side and simply looks him up and down. When she doesn’t say anything he wonders, but then there’s the slight flush to her cheeks that gives her away and he leans in, arm pulling her close and lips pressing against her ear. “I do hope you like what you see, milady.”

Her smile is slow and lazy as his hand wanders around to the small of her back as his thumb grazes bare skin. “I think we’re each equally impressed.”

"Oh, Regina. You’ve no idea how impressed I am." 

She laughs then but it dies in her throat as he presses close under the guise of dancing with her, hands both resting on her hips. She can feel him against her and her mouth is suddenly dry but she doesn’t press, doesn’t move as he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

"I believe we should leave."

He really doesn’t have to tell her twice, and she tugs at his hand, turning and leading him out of the party.

They both miss Snow White’s smug smile.

In the parking lot, away from the lights and orchestra music, Robin pulls Regina flush to him, his mouth on hers before she has time to catch up, but he is warm and smells like pine and wood, and she is lost in his kiss, doesn’t care when his hands tug at her hair to get it down or when he pushes her against her car. It’s still chilly and she gasps, but his hands are warm even over the fabric of her dress. Her own hands aren’t idle as they tug at his damned apparel that is small buttons and tucked in shirts until she can rest against his skin underneath. Their mouths part at the same time, ragged sighs falling from each of them.

"Home," she breathes out. "Take me… _oh_.”

The words die on her lips as his mouth falls to that spot right behind her ear, the one that makes her knees weak in the most cliche way she can think of, and her hands move around to the small of his back, pressing his hips against her again. This time there’s no being careful, this time she grinds against him, and again through layers she can feel him hard and pressing. 

"Do you have any idea," he murmurs against her skin, "How you look in this dress?"

"Tell me," she demands quietly, her fingers deftly unzipping his formal pants so that she can slip her hand in and cup him, boxer briefs the only thing keeping her from him completely. But she can still feel his groan against her neck and the hitch of his breath.

"Exquisite. Lovely. And like someone I absolutely need my mouth on immediately."

This time it’s her low moan that pierces the night air around them, and she removes her hand from his pants, gropes for the door handle and pushes him inside as soon as she can. Going around, she manages to get into the car, though why she bothered to drive to begin with she doesn’t know. It was a normal thing to do, because did she have to use magic for everything? And as she watches him reach over to pull her into another kiss she realizes that no, she doesn’t, but she absolutely could have for royal ball transportation. But then his lips are on hers, and then down her neck and against her pulse, and she stops thinking about anything at all. He’s tugging, trying to get her to his lap and her car isn’t large by any means, it’s a 1983 model that is boxy though somehow regal, but still. It’s small and is not conducive to what he has in mind. She goes though, knocking against the steering wheel, dress stretching in ways it wasn’t meant to. Reaching to the side of his seat, she raises a lever and back he goes with a surprised yelp, but this is much better.

Except that he can’t get his hands under her dress, he can’t quite touch her the way he wants. But she can. She can touch him as much as she desires, and her hand goes back inside his pants and into his briefs this time, small fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking just lightly for now, eyes flickering over his face in the semi-dark. The glow of the streetlights give off just enough for her to see his features, his slack jaw and half-closed eyes.

"That’s…not fair…" he manages, hips raising to push for more friction, and she can feel it in her belly, the heat that’s pooling at doing this to him.

"I could stop," she offers, even as she lets her thumb curve around the tip of him, smiling in success as he jerks into her touch.

"I -  _ah_  - would like to be having my way with you.”

"What exactly do you think you’d be doing?" She moves slowly over him, enough to let him catch his breath even if he’s a little lacking on vocabulary. 

"You’d be out of this dress that’s covering you up, completely, might I add, except for the back." And even that’s an obstacle course of jewels. 

"I thought you liked my dress?" she pouts, but it’s playful. 

"Oh, it is exquisite. Though not for what my hands would like to be doing."

For a moment, her fingers glide over him faster, her grip tightens just enough to make him groan, and he’s encouraging as his eyes close again, head tipping back. And then, she stops, waits for him to look at her. 

"Tell me."

His tongue comes out to wet his lips as he holds her gaze. “If this dress were less tight and a bit shorter, I might be able to touch. Feel you. I do know what I do to you, and I’d wager you’re very, very wet.”

Well.

He isn’t wrong, and she moves her hand over him again. Squeezing and stroking and listening to his heavy breathing, to the way her name sounds, but she can’t stand it anymore. She needs his touch, needs his hands, and with a wave of her free one, the dress is gone. Everything is gone and he’s looking at her now in a way that makes her stomach tighten. There’s no hesitation then, his hand deftly moving between them, fingers dragging across her sex before his thumb finds her clit, pressing in slow circles.

"I was right," he murmurs, watching as her head tilts back, not caring that her hand has faltered against him as she rocks into his touch. She feels like fire and all that he wants is to make her shout for him. He focuses solely on this one spot that has her writhing and pressing one palm against the window, eyes closed as her hips buck, and her words cut right through him,  _harder, more, please, Robin, more_ , and he doesn’t stop. He could, he supposes. He could stop and tease but it’s too late for that. Once she starts like this he can’t help himself.

 

Apparently, she has more strength than he does, and she pushes his hand away. “I think I said more,” she gasps out.

For a moment he’s confused, afraid she means he did something wrong until she’s leaning up and over him a bit, raising her hips enough to guide him into her, inch by slow inch. She’s slick and hot and  _Gods_ , he’s going to lose his mind.

They’re in her car, in the parking lot where a party is going on just inside the building in front of them, and he’s buried inside of her, hands cupping her breasts, thumbs gliding over taut nipples that he desperately wants to take between his lips but can’t quite do without changing the pace or pulling her into a less than ideal position. “You’re beautiful,” he says on an exhale, but words are becoming more difficult, words are escaping him completely, and he knows she’s with him because all that she manages is an  _uh-huh_  before her jaw drops on a loud cry of his name.

When she cants her hips downward just a bit, she cries out, clit now grazing against him every time he thrusts and she bites at her bottom lip, and that’s good, that’s perfect,  _there, there, there_ , and then she’s gone. Her body tightens against him and around him, his hands shooting to her hips to hold her, to rut and grind and she nearly sobs, the pressure perfect and her orgasm is endless or maybe she’s coming again, she doesn’t know. He pushes up, again, two more times, and then there is no more steady rhythm. It’s jerking and she’s writhing, and it’s perfect.

The air in the car is suffocating, the windows fogged over, her hair sticking to her neck. She can’t move, doesn’t want to move away from him just yet as she shudders in residual pleasure which causes him to let out a low groan.

"Home," she manages to murmur, licking her lips. "Need to go home."

He makes an attempt to sit up, but before he can move much there’s smoke and purple, and he shouldn’t be surprised to see they’re on her bed now. “You’re quite good at that, love. And what of your car when the others leave the party and see that you still seem to be there, somewhere?”

She hums, not concerned as she kisses him languidly, tastes him and relaxes as she settles against his side.

"Let them wonder. I have better things to do."


End file.
